


The Spider and The Fawn

by Honeyside



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Dunmer (Elder Scrolls), Elder Scrolls Lore, Elf/Human Relationship(s), F/M, Fantasy, Hurt/Comfort, Interspecies, NSFW, Nord (Elder Scrolls), Romance, Skyrim - Freeform, the elder scrolls
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-15
Updated: 2021-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-22 21:47:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30045228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Honeyside/pseuds/Honeyside
Summary: Life in Skyrim is unpleasant as a winter's breeze, but love finds a way to warm the hearts of desperate souls. Two down on their luck strangers, a young, kind-hearted prostitute and a grumpy ex-Morag Tong assassin, cross paths. Is it fate orchestrated by the gods?
Relationships: OC/OC, Original Characters - Relationship, interspecies - Relationship
Kudos: 5





	1. Little Fawn

The Gray Quarter.

What an insulting name.

Zalyn loathed the place like an insufferable itch. His people, the Dunmer, or what most humans called them, "dark elves", took refuge in the wintry slum of Windhelm, the ancient city in Skyrim. After Red Mountain erupted, many surviving Dunmer fled westward from the purging volcanic fire and ash that continuously ravaged their homeland Morrowind. Alas, Skyrim wasn't the promised land they'd hoped for. It was nothing like Morrowind. There was no winter in Morrowind. No cold, breezy winds either. Zalyn missed the lush-green plains, mushroom and swamp lands back home. In Skyrim, the weather was frigid almost year-round. And worst of all, the land was full of Nords. The barbaric human _n’wahs_!

The Nords in Skyrim hated his people, as did the Dunmer towards them. They spat at the Dunmeri refugees, called them "gray skins" and to add insult, named their new found home the Gray Quarter. Sometimes the Nords would empty their chamber pots onto their frostbitten cobblestone streets which reeked up the place. Zalyn spent most of his days in the New Gnisis Cornerclub, a tawdry tavern in the Gray Quarter, working as a body guard and drowning out the pains of his current disposition with a pint of sujamma, a beverage that reminded him of home.

Zalyn's pointed ears picked up a sudden commotion that came from across the room. Curiously, he perked up and saw a Dunmeri with bronze-gray skin and a head full of straggly red hair fondling a young, flaxen-haired Nord woman. He had her straddled on his lap, smothering her with sloppy, drunk kisses.

"I told you to stay away from me," she hissed, her hands shoving his head away.

"Come on now," the mer slurred, unfazed by her rejection. He had one hand groping her bare thigh while the other squeezing her shoulder. "Why must ya be so harsh? I really, really like ya."

Zalyn hated Nords. He wouldn't care if the mer bend her over the table, lift up her skirt, and fuck her in front of him. His seething contempt towards the people of Skyrim had hardened him, made him desensitized to the ongoing affrays between the Nords and his kind. So much was taken from him, so much pain and trauma he harbored over the years left his heart cold, distant. Witnessing one human female being molested by a lustful drunkard wouldn't deprive him of any sleep. The other patrons in the tavern seemed to share the same indifference and went on about their business as usual, while the two barkeeps standing behind the counter spectated nervously from afar.

"I've told you a several times before," the woman spat back, spurning the harasser's relentless advances the best she could. "I won't fuck you. Not after the last time."

"You're still mad at me?" he scoffed, his voice louder than before, as he leaned in closer. "I said I was sorry. I promise to be more gentle this time. I'll pay ya more."

The Nord girl recoiled, jerking her head away from him. The heavy stench of sujamma defiled her nostrils.

"I said no," she coughed in protest.

Now flustered, the drunk mer moved his hand from her shoulder and snaked its way into her blouse. The girl squirmed when she felt his greedy hand squeezed her breast.

"Give me what I want, slut," his voiced husked.

 _'Oh she is in trouble now...'_ Zalyn was deeply engrossed in the ruction between the two patrons across from him. Oddly enough, if memory served right him right, he could have sworn he had seen the young Nord before. He believed he saw her selling flowers in the market. She had the same blonde hair and wore a blue hooded shawl. He couldn't remember her actual name.

"I'm a whore, not a slut," Whatshername exclaimed.

"Makes no difference to me," The drunk mer grimaced as his hand grasped her neck tight, attempting to choke the air out of her. "Come with me to my place and fuck me, or else I'll fuck ya right here, right in front of these people."

"I said no!" Whatshername cried out. In a fit of fury, she snatched a nearby mug and slung it straight at his face, its liquid contents slashing into his red eyes. He bellowed and leaped out from the chair, forcing the woman off of him.

"Ya fucking cunt!" The drunk mer roared, kicking the table over in a blind rage. Audible grasps from the patrons filled the tavern as their freighted glares were on them. Even Zalyn was surprised. Whatshername franticly scurried up to her feet and ran out the door before her bully was able to nab her. Zalyn saw her smile quite triumphantly as she fled. 

"Looks like you lost another bed-warmer, Uulan. You unlucky cur," he sneered, taking a swig.

The drunk mer dried off his damp face with his sleeve. "Shut up, _s’wit_! I swear, if I ever find that little bitch again, I'll give her somethin’ she won't enjoy. She’ll suffer for this."

"She sure did you dirty there. Best you clean up, because you also pissed yourself a bit," Zalyn motioned his mug like a pointed finger at the wet stain on the crotch of Uulan's pants.

Uulan growled deeply before clearing his throat, humiliated by his fellow mer's mordant comment.

"So, who is she?" Zalyn asked, still apathetic.

"The fuck do ya care?" Uulan cursed harshly, avoiding eye-contact as he continued to dry himself down.

The mer shrugged. "Just curious. Never seen her before. You really fancied that one."

"Agne," Uulan huffed. "She's the flower girl from the market."

"Agne, huh? What a stupid name."

* * *

Agne ran away as fast as her feet could carry her. She kept running until her tired feet hit upon the doorsteps of the Temple of Talos. Her sanctuary. She rested against the cold stone wall to catch her breath before she entered the temple. That was too close for comfort. If she hadn't bolted out as quickly as she did, that ill-tempered bastard Uulan would have harmed her, or worse. Damned him! He pushed her too far. He forced himself on her too many times until she finally mustered the courage to defend herself. No doubt he's angry, wanting her dead.

Her mind spun with dreadful thoughts of him finding her and killing her as revenge for splashing sujamma in his ugly face. While her transgression felt liberating at first, the thought of that likelihood made her sick after. Uulan's an elf known for his pettiness and cruelty. She knew he would stop at nothing to get his grimy hands around her throat and beat her bloody. She knew the extent of his violence, she knew what he's capable of. She was his victim. She wasn't the first and probably wouldn't be the last. At this moment, he's plotting for her demise. She could feel it in her gut.

No longer she felt safe in Windhelm. She wanted to run away, far away from this drab city, but where would she go?

She didn't want to leave her two step-fathers behind. She loved them deeply, and leaving without saying goodbye would hurt them. She felt trapped in this city, trapped in this brumal land shadowed by civil war. Skyrim is the homeland of the Nords, and they're a strong people, but the civil unrest had divided them more than ever. Fear loomed over the land like a thieving, outstretched hand on an unguarded coin purse.

'All because of your worship,' Agne mused, her hazel eyes peered up at the large stone statue of Talos, the Hero-God of Mankind, that stood far back in the Temple. Lit candles scattered around the statue, their dancing flames beckoning any lost soul to his worship.

Taking in the welcoming warmth of the interior, Agne took a deep breath and made her way into the temple. Quiet as a dormouse, she placed herself on one of the wooden pews and slumped her head down in desperate prayer.

Gods, what's she going to do? She didn't want to continue whoring herself for coin forever. She ghastly worried that her fathers would find out about her secret. Unveiling her secret to them would hurt them more, even anger them enough to disown her. She felt like a horrible daughter. She only became a whore in secret so that they could have enough, and sadly, on some days, it wasn't always enough. Selling flowers was just a front, disguising herself as an innocent, maidenly woman in public helped keep the prying eyes of the city guards away from her. Every day she carried a basket full of freshly-picked flowers and waited for a man to come by and offered them sex in exchange for coin. If ever caught by the guards, she'd wind up spending a month or more in a freezing jail cell. But now, they're the least of her worries. Now, she's fearing for her life.

Agne's heart sank in despair, mournful tears welled in her eyes and started to drip down her cheeks.

"Talos preserve me," _s_ he whimpered softly.

* * *

"Where have you been?" the silver-haired Dunmer asked. It was Endal, one of Agne's step-fathers. His gravelly tone was stern and carried a hint of both annoyance and genuine concern, as should any parent when their child came home late.

"I was at the temple praying. My apologies, father," Agne answered, almost startled, as she closed the door behind her. She greeted him with a tender peck on the cheek.

"You worry me too much, you know that?" he said, his tone unchanged. "It's not safe to wonder off alone. Even inside the city's walls is not safe. For a moment I thought something have happened to you. "

"Oh, please stop pestering the poor girl, Endal," a familiar voice intervened. (Thank the gods.) That was her other step-father, Gadesi, who was a Dunmer as well. "You're acting like a mother hen again. She is grown."

"Which is why I'm worried," Endal wagged his finger at his husband. "She has blossomed into a woman. Men her age and older are going to chase after her and want to bed her..."

"Father please!" Agne begged, her cheeks flushing red. How embarrassing to hear these two bickering over her as if she were a small child. It didn't help, unbeknownst to them, that she wasn't a virgin and already had been with men, human and elf, her age and twice over. She knew they meant well, being her adoptive parents and all, but this was humiliating.

Endal and Gadesi turned silent and looked at Agne with concern on their faces. She buried her face in her hands, rocking from side to side.

"What's troubling you, child?" Gadesi broke the silence.

Agne slowly left her head up, frowning, and sniffed, "I...I didn't make any coin today."

That was a lie, but it was a believable lie. It seemed to have worked its magic because Gadesi comforted her with a hug.

"I expected as much. I think it's time for you to change your calling. Come now, my little fawn. Sulking around all day won't do you any good. Dinner is almost ready."

Soon after they ate dinner together. Ash yam soup, one of Agne’s favorite dishes, was served. They ate in silence, which wasn't unusual and Agne rather enjoyed the quietude of dinnertime. Later that night, she laid in bed, staring up at the ceiling, her eyes felt heavy but she couldn't sleep. Ghastly thoughts plagued her weary mind.

_“Hold still, bitch!”_

She could hear Uulan’s scurrilous voice echo in her mind like a sharpened blade. Her neck tightened involuntarily, she could recollect his hands grabbing her by the throat, suffocating her, with a menacing grin on his face. That was his favorite thing to do during sex. He took unearthly pleasure in seeing her eyes roll back and her mouth heave for air to a point of blacking out. He relished it and Agne hated him for it, deeply. If he dropped dead tomorrow, she wouldn't shed a tear.

Damn him to Oblivion.


	2. Trouble at the Market

Zalyn woke up with a headache. A groan rumbled in his throat as he struggled to pull himself up from where he laid. He slept on the wooden floor in a bed roll made of tattered animal skin as he did every night. He squinted his eyes to adjust his vision, only to find himself in a dark room with no source of visible light. 

Sun wasn’t up yet. Fuck. How long had he been asleep? 

Last night he drank a little too much, which wasn’t uncommon. There was a time the mer didn’t excessively drink as much as he did when he moved to Skyrim. He drank like a typical Nord, indulging himself with a pint of whatever he fancied at the moment. His body went through a glaring transformation due to his constant benders, much to his discomfort. Zalyn’s former self would have shuddered at the picture he created. 

While he wasn't anywhere near large enough to be considered fat by anyone's standards, Zalyn sported a slight pudge, replacing what was once a toned, flat stomach. His facial hair grew out as well. He used to be clean-shaven, but now a heavy, scraggly mane, black as raven feathers, contoured his face. He had dark circles under his eyes and his complexion was blemished and pale, which diminished most of his once pristine elven features. His current visage was a far cry from the proud and beautiful mer he had been during his youthful years in Morrowind, a disheveled husk of what he once was. 

* * *

“Fuck, it’s cold,” he muttered through chattering teeth. Despite living in Skyrim for so long, he never gotten used to the weather. Holding his dick steady while taking a long piss, especially in the bitter cold, had proven time and time again to be a daunting task. 

After relieving himself, he retreated inside the New Gnisis Cornerclub, his home, and crawled into the bed roll and dozed off. 

“Get up.” 

Zalyn scrunched his face. 

“Get up.”

The voice became louder. He grumbled and lazily turned over, one red eye peeked open to see who woke him. 

Ambarys Rendar, the tavern owner and his boss, stood over him, arms folded across his chest, glaring down at the heavy-eyed mer with a peeved scowl. 

“It’s almost past morning, Zalyn. Time to get up.”

Zalyn groaned.“Piss off, Ambarys. Let me sleep.” 

“You’ve been sleeping for 10 hours. I think you had plenty.”

10 hours? Gods, was he sleeping for that long? The sujamma he drank last night must had really knocked him out. 

“Fine, fine!” he harrumphed as sluggishly kicked the animal skin cover off of him and dragged himself out of the bed roll again. 

It’s surprising how Ambarys was able to tolerate him for this long, giving that he’d been living in his establishment for dirt cheap. Zalyn guessed his tolerance was forged out of pity. Many Dunmer in Windhelm were scrapping by since they left their beloved homeland behind in droves, and Ambarys was no exception despite owning a tavern. He understood the struggle that his people were going through. Not only that but Ulfric Stormcloak, the ruling Jarl of the city, had risen taxes to fund his civil war against the Imperial Empire, forcing the refugees to pay up with little they had. 

“Make yourself more useful today and go to the market and fetch me all the supplies listed here.” Ambarys handed him a piece of paper. 

“Yeah, yeah...” Zalyn snatched the paper, massaging his temples. His head still throbbed like it had been struck with a hammer.“I’ll get your supplies...after I drink a potion. I could really use one right about now.”

Every now and again, he brewed his own concoctions, mixed with native herbs and flowers found in the wild, and hoped for the best. These potions helped a great deal for even some of the most hideous hangovers he had endured. 

Zalyn walked towards the bedside table and took a large red-glazed vial with a note that reads: Drunk’s Cure. Catchy name. It may have been freshly made, but it smelled like pond muck. The potion itself was a blessing, in theory. It would help him soothe his pounding headache, though he was still in for a rough day ahead.

A cough jolted out of his throat. The liquid tasted so strong that its dreadful tang stung his tongue. 

“Why do you keep doing this to yourself, Zalyn?”Ambarys chided him. “All you’re doing here is wasting your life away. You must stop drinking and seek an actual healer.”

“I’ll be fine,” Zalyn spat, wiping a small trail of the putrid liquid off his chin. “My headache will be gone soon. It always does.”

* * *

The marketplace was booming with business on a usual chilly midday. The sun was beaming at least, which was a perfect time to go out and spend coin. Zalyn’s head wasn’t hurting as bad anymore, but he felt a bit light-headed. The self-made remedy he drank did the trick, somewhat. It was better than puking his guts out on the street.   
  
When Zalyn left the Gray Quarter, he had the misfortune of bumping into a drunk Nord on his way to the market. He spat at him and called him a “gray skin" before waddling away to find a street to pass out on. Returning his focus on the agenda at hand, Zalyn squinted at Ambarys’ list. 2 loafs of bread, 3 yams, and a pound of horker meat. Simple enough. 

From the corner of his eye, a stone’s throw away, he glimpsed a familiar face. He turned his head fully to have a clear view and then his dark brows raised.

It was her. The flaxen-haired girl from the day before. She appeared to be perturbed, like she was being pursued, or afraid of being pursued by someone. Her eyes darted at random directions and both her hands tightly clenched on the blue fabric of her cowl that draped over her shoulders. 

“What is she up to?”  


* * *

  
Agne knew going to the marketplace alone was a bad idea, but she was instructed by her father Gadesi to buy potions from The White Phial, an alchemy shop located in the same district. Her fathers knew the shop owner, Nurelion and considered him as a close acquaintance. He’s a Altmer, or High Elf. He was also an old and esteemed local apothecary, wholly dedicated to his craft. Agne had visited him on numerous times, to pick up recipes, potions and the like. However, he had fallen ill recently. And ever since then, his temperament became rather sour. Gadesi had warned her to be patient with the old elf and not to do anything that might aroused his anger.

Agne sighed heavily. This was not what she had hoped for. Ever since the incident that happened in the Gray Quarter yesterday, the fear of bumping into Uulan loomed over her. She cautiously navigated through the crowd, her head kept down and hidden within the confines of her hood, with an empty basket resting on the crook of her arm. Her heart had been beating hard against her chest since she left home, and her legs wobbled while walking through the snow-strewn streets. 

She scurried close to the patrolling city guards so if Uulan ever tried anything the guards would swoop in and protect her. The city guard were heavily armed from head to toe and carried the strongest steel swords and shields. Uulan wouldn't dare attack her in the middle of the market with guards present. But if that plan ever failed, the small dagger strapped to her waist belt would provide self-defense. 

Knocking gently on the wooden door, Agne waited till permission was granted before pushing it open and sliding into the shop. When she entered, the rich, floral scent of burning lavender and honeysuckle smoothed her, as if she’d left the chaos of the world behind her. 

“Welcome!” Quintus Navale, Nurelion’s young human apprentice, chirped.

She smiled in greeting. “Good evening, Quintus. I come to get a several potions. Where’s Nurelion?”

A series of loud, wailing coughs came from the other room. 

“He’s out of commission at the moment.”

“I see.” 

Quintus rolled up his sleeves in jaunty readiness. “But don’t you worry, Agne. I can take his place. My master taught me a lot about alchemy and healing remedies. I’m the right man for the job-”

“Quintus!”

The budding apprentice hunched down like a frightened dog being scolded by its master. Even Agne was startled. The grizzled Altmeri alchemist stepped into the room, a disapproving scowl sagged his pale-golden face. His lanky stature towered over the two occupants of his shop, shooting his fiery gold eyes at his apprentice. 

“Quintus, you know I don’t appreciate being cast aside. Just because I’m ill doesn't mean you could talk behind my back and take my place. Be more wise with your words next time. Understood?”

“I-I’m sorry, Master,” he meekly bowed his head, apologetically. “It won’t happen again, I promise.”

“Good,” Nurelion nodded in acceptance to his apology. He turned his attention to Agne, whose wary gaze blinked up at him. 

“Ah, beautiful Agnetha,”his tone softened as he continued. “What brings you here to my establishment today?” 

At slight ease, she answered, “My father sent me here to get potions.” 

“Very well. Just say what you need and I-” 

Nurelion’s graceful words were cut off once a sharp pain pierced his throat. He covered a hand over his mouth while letting out several howling coughs. 

“Are you okay?” Agne asked. 

He shook his head. “No...no need to pity me, little one. I’ll be fine. Just need to lay down a bit.” He quickly turned to his apprentice. “Quintus, help this fine lady.”

Quintus nodded, and gladly did as he was told. He assisted Agne straight away, fetching a handful of potions she needed from the shelves and placing them in her basket with grace. His Elven master looked onward, resting in a chair, keeping a watchful eye on him to ensure he did his task diligently. 

“That is everything I needed. Thank you so much, Quintus.” Agne thanked him, her lips curved in a satisfied grin, as she handed him a fistful of gold septims. 

She lifted up the basket. Consequently, the added weight of the potions inside the basket caused her to hunch over. Quintus offered a helping hand but Agne politely declined. Soon after, she bid farewell to both Nurelion and Quintus and left the shop. 

The whining wind bit her bare face once the door closed behind her. She shivered, clamping her teeth to keep them from chattering. Adjusting her grip on the sagging basket, she hugged her shawl tighter around her shoulders and stepped down to the market’s street. Her eyes shifted around the market, only to suddenly spot a face she didn’t want to cross paths with. 

Uulan.

And he wasn’t alone. Three male Dunmer accompanied him, trailing closely behind him, guffawing and cracking jokes among themselves. Her body shuddered, she took several deep breaths to regain a semblance of control over her rapidly beating heart. She tried to stifle the wavering verge of panicking, but the moment his ruddy eyes leered at her general direction, it was too late. 

_‘Shit!’_

Hastily, she turned on her heels and evaded his line of sight, praying under her breath that he didn’t notice her. She yanked the hood of her cowl over her eyes to better conceal herself. 

_‘Please don’t see me. Look away-’_

Uulan and his rowdy pack of hooligans drew nearer than she expected. The beating of her heart violently careened against her chest. Talos preserve her. One shaking hand instinctively reached for the grip of her dagger, ready to strike it through one of those bastards’ guts if he ever came near. Her hazel eyes pondered for any city guard in the marketplace. None. Dammit! 

A choked gasp escaped her throat, turning into a sob. With Uulan so close behind her, she knew there was no way he wasn’t going to find her. She closed her eyes and permitted herself to run. 

Suddenly, as she was about to flee, Agne felt a sharp tug at her sleeve. And then came a firm grip around on her arm. A startled squeal tore from her throat but it was soon muted by a gray hand.


End file.
